Rainy Days
by Jonnax
Summary: A collection of short stories featuring Miles Edgeworth's childhood. Various characters and time periods.
1. Chapter 1

Short Story (1) - Rainy Days

With no sign of stopping, the pouring rain didn't let up until later that evening. It drummed heavily against the rooftop, little drops trickled down the windows and smudged footsteps trailed down the halls. It has been quite a while since spring brought up such an unflattering weather to the surface. Not only had it quenched the soils, but it was down right bone chilling as well; forcing pedestrians to wear long, heavy coats and boots as children retrieved an additional pair of socks and beanies from the locker rooms.

With the forecast keeping them in from first period to last, even during gym, they were overjoyed to head back home and fell into step with their friends, under the guise of big umbrellas, differed in color and shape emerging from the school's gate and heading towards different directions. And others, greeted by their parents, propped inside the back seat of their car and headed for the long road and traffic ahead of them.

Taking his father's early warning into consideration, Miles fished his own umbrella out of his locker along with a red scarf and wrapped it around his neck. Ready to head on out, there was only one concern left still lingering in his mind.

Lately, two boys from his class just wouldn't leave him alone; The first didn't show up for school today due to the flu and the latter, Miles hasn't seen ever since gym. When his forehead was hit with a hard ball during a volleyball game, he apparently stayed at the nurse's office ever since. It didn't seem like one of his parents could manage to pick him up either. And as the teacher asked, he kept notes for the both of them in his backpack, not entirely sure how to deliver them without embarrassing himself.

It wasn't that Miles particularly disliked them, as much as he wasn't used getting someone of his own age pay much heed to him. Daily, they hanged around him during lunch break while sharing experiences, walked him home part of the way after school and occasionally proposed wasteful gatherings watching boyish cartoons or playing video games. Miles honestly didn't know why children kept busying themselves with such trivial matters on a daily basis but after awhile, he at least thought himself to be getting the hang of it.

It piqued his curiosity, so he let them. At some point, days at school passed in the blink of an eye; whenever one of them wasn't around, he became aware of their presence and at night, under his covers, Miles had found himself not once already anticipating the next waking moment, leading to the next day. However, he wasn't trained yet to face all kinds of situations in that aspect, and didn't know what was the best approach to adopt. But hanging around his locker, fiddling with his samurai red figurine hanging from his backpack, was meaningless just as much as worrying about a problem he wasn't likely to deal with today.

Thinking it was time to go, Miles stopped striding as soon as he got a glimpse of a figure standing in front of the entrance. Pacing nervously back and forth, from time to time, the figure stared at the rain drops hitting the asphalt outside and hitched back inside with a nervous gesture. Second time he stepped into the light, he saw a big bandage was warped around his forehead and there was no mistaking what the identity of the boy was any longer.

That posed a problem. There was only one way in/out of the building and Phoenix deliberately blocked it with all his might. It didn't seem like he was planning to risk his chance running all the way home with soggy clothes and to catch Larry's cold, as his hand showed no sign of holding a handle in its fist. It goes without saying, he could suggest Phoenix to head back to the teacher's lounge and ask if there was a spare umbrella someone had forgotten as most teachers owned a car of their own and could make the trip from the gate to the parking lot with minimum damage or Miles could simply suggest to share his own.

He just didn't feel comfortable doing so. Not having much experience in this friendship thing that was still a fresh, new concept for him, he didn't know what was appropriate to do and what not. What if he would be grossed out by the suggestion? What if after all, Phoenix was waiting for someone to pick him up? What should a friend do in a time like this? Miles might not know the answer to the former, but maybe as one human being to another, he just might act according to his instincts.

Without him noticing, Miles stepped behind him and covered his head with an open umbrella. It was black, broad and definitely fitting to host two boys in their way through a rainstorm. Surprise showing on his face, Phoenix turned around completely and stared at Miles openly, who averted his gaze away shyly. He muttered something.

"...What?"

Blush crawled up his neck. "...W-would you like to go home together?"

Miles gave the handle a little jerk, hoping to make his meaning more understandable. When it took Phoenix a couple of seconds to process the proposal, he considered either explaining himself a second time or take it back altogether. Before he had managed both, Phoenix suddenly beamed with a huge grin displaying on his features that had taken him aback. "Yeah, let's go!"

Phoenix hummed happily during the way, talked about trivial things yet again, the rain drops partly muffling his monologue and brushing their shoulders. Just as Miles joined in, they discussed about the latest episode of the Signal Samurai and the movie's upcoming release in September, agreeing to share this information with Larry on a later date. Then, he told Phoenix about Missile's new rope toy and his habit to chew on the sofa which out of frustration made his father pull out a hair or two and lastly, he mentioned the homework he kept for them and had already finished during class, to his friend's amazement.

As they kept at it, the easier it felt nodding in agreement, sharing his own experiences or muffling a chuckle behind his hand when recalling the highlight moment during gym, when Phoenix just as obliviously turned to the sound of his name and at that fateful moment, the ball magnetized itself to his head and landed a clear hit.

Unlike him, Phoenix had to grope at his sides with barking laugher, as a small smile worked its way around his face, and Miles thought, that maybe he could get used to this meaningless daily discourse after all...

Silent for a moment, Phoenix stopped in his tracks.

"...Miles? What's on your mind?"

Mile's smile deepened. "Hm? nothing, really"


	2. Chapter 2

Short story (2) - Side of Justice

Thump.

One after another, profiles snapped in his direction, taking in the scene before them. Watching as Miles sat unwillingly on his buttock, slacks stained with mud, staring at the enormous hand that had pushed him. Most in sight, were parents after a work day that with no particular attachment or personal involvement to either party, weren't inclined to interfere a petty quarrel between two unguarded boys. Rather than that, they resumed their previous activists, engrossed with reading the newspaper to conversing with one another about similar topics.

This much they had already proven before. When this older boy that was about ahead taller and much bulkier than him, had threatened to crash a sand castle under his feet, that the pigtailed girl behind him had built with her own two hands and the help of her trusty pink shovel and a bucket. The small girl's cries of agony were anything but silent, yet nobody would rush to her aid. What other choice did he have left then?

Miles looked behind him and there it was. A mixture of scattered dry and moist grains of sand, the remembrance of what used to be a great castle. With unstable walls and crooked doors, yet in the eye of a child it was a very impressive feat nonetheless.

How unfortunate. Or so Miles thought, until he raised to his feet. Wiping any traces of dust off his sleeves, he locked eyes with the boy in front of him. This was a matter of righteousness and from the very beginning, he hadn't meant it to become a fist fight he won't likely win. Yet, how come his shivering mouth kept talking without consent?

"...I-I believe I asked you to leave her be. Your presence is obviously bothering her."

"Nobody's askin' for your opinion, kid." The older boy hissed, palms open. "See? No one's around complaining but you. Now scram before I do more than just ruin your pretty clothes. Better not upset mommy about it."

Miles tried to look unfazed, balling his hands into tight fists. "Even if no one else would stand up, I wouldn't let it past me to see an innocent girl being tormented for nothing. You're simply abusing your power over the weak."

The boy stared down at him in disgust, his legs were shaking, barely able to hold down his own weight. "Big words for a squirt. Let's see how big those fists are."

Sometime later, the sun was already setting down and the park was mostly empty. Miles sat on the swing by himself, with his head slugged back. Having his clothes ruined and his cheeks red and swelled, he barely managed to surpass his stifles. More than anything else, the shame over his actions were worse than the psychical pain and the soreness he had felt. With the difficulty to decide whether what he did was just or plainly stupid, Miles stayed where he was uncertain what to do next.

It appeared to be that girl's mother left her by herself for a couple of errand and upon her return, hadn't in the least expected what happened. Although she had thanked him and also offered to accompany him during the way home or at least disinfect his bruises, Miles refused each offer as politely as possible and tried to reassure her he will be alright if left on his own. It might not have been very persuasive, seeing as Miles was holding back the urge to cry, but in the end she had given up and both mother and daughter waved him goodbye good heartedly.

More than anything, Miles wanted to return back to the comfort and safety of his own house, but he knew that the moment his father will see him like this, he will know what his son had been up to. Miles had never been involved in a fight before, and while he didn't deliver a single punch, left himself open and defenseless, he worried what his reaction might be, seeing as it was something new to him.

Will he ground him, yell at him, or worst of all, will he be disappointed?

After pondering all of these, running different scenarios in his head, Miles could no longer find it in himself to get up and leave. Rather than that, he kept swinging slowly back and forth, a troubling expression was plastered on his face. But then something pulled him out of his thoughts, it was the rushing of birds and the sound of a familiar voice.

"...M-Miles?"

Miles turned his head to the sound of his name. To his surprise, calling him hesitantly was none other than Phoenix. Standing there, looking almost as troubled as Miles himself. It puzzled him to no end as he stared back mouth slightly a gaped, but more urgently, he remembered there were still some fresh trails of tears rolling down the side of his cheeks. Miles immediately tried to sniffle them and wiped his face with his sleeve, feeling like he had only made it dirtier.

Taking note of it, Phoenix crept closer, standing right in front of him. They kept at it for a few more moments, the silence stretching with his heartbeat pounding in his ears, until Phoenix slugged his head, mumbling something. Miles could just barely make out these sequence of two unexpected words, hardly believing them to be coming out of his own mouth. Yet they did.

Miles looked up at him, clearly surprised. "You're sorry? What for?"

Phoenix grimaced, as if there was something he wanted to say but something else was preventing him to do so. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, "I saw it... I-I saw everything."

"What?"

"I saw that girl being bullied, but I didn't do anything about it. And then you appeared, but after he shoved you, again I was too scared to move. I was here the all time, waiting until you left so that I could leave after you."

Miles furrowed his eyebrows. "Why didn't you say anything?"

It was now Phoenix's turn to sniffle a whimper. "Its just..." he circled around himself, kicking sand with his foot awkwardly and added, "you were so cool. You had no chance of winning, but you did what you could anyway. Like a superhero!"

His face fell. "...And then, here I was all along. Watching my friend getting beaten up but I didn't do anything to stop it. After that, I was too afraid to face you again and even thought about acting like nothing happened the day after. I just..."

"You couldn't." Miles shook his head fondly, after all, his friend was honest to a fault. Who in their right minds could accuse someone like that of stealing lunch money in the first place? Miles got up from his seat and placed a reassuring hand over his shoulder, sighting, "It's alright. If you had tried to help me we both would have gotten beaten up over nothing. It was a stupid idea anyway."

Phoenix's tears grew more urgent. "No, it wasn't! You did what even an adult wouldn't do. I wish I could be as corgeous as you, to defend innocent people like that."

Miles shook his head again, smiling. "Don't you mean courageous? ...But thank you."

They kept swinging on the swings for a few more minutes, devising a plan for Miles to get back to his house and what to say to his father when he sees him. When he admitted there was no other way around it but simply come out clean and tell the truth, it was already late as they both started getting ready to leave. But when Miles and Phoenix heard another voice calling out his name, this time more urgently, sharper, manlier, both boys stopped in their tracks.

"F-Father?" Mikes answered weakly, somewhat unsure but turned around nonetheless to search for the source of that voice. But when a man wearing a brown trench coat made his way through the rest of the park, he stopped as he spotted the two boys in the far distance. With a mixture of expressions on his face, partly hidden by his hat, none of them unreadable. Anger. Concern. Fear.

Will he ground him, yell at him, or worst of all, will he be disappointed?

But all of it disappeared in the blink of an eye the moment he rushed to Miles's side, kneeling in front of him with each one of his strong hands on his shoulders. Was that relief that he saw on his face?

Gregory studied his son's appearance, taking in his ripped, soiled clothes and bruises skin. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and started patting his face gently with it. Sighting in relief when he saw no inner scratches and bruises underneath the dirt. His glance then switched to his friend Phoenix, who apparently looked a bit shaken but besides that, unharmed, and then asked in a stern voice, shaking Miles a little, "What happened?"

"...I-I'm sorry."

Miles stared at his feet, hot tears sliding down his jaw line. Without managing to hold them back or make out sensible words for the next couple of minutes, his father held him closely to his chest and waited for him to calm down. Not wanting to interfere, Phoenix was standing there awkwardly and debated where should he lock his eyes in addition to how long. He avoided looking directly at the hugging pair, since that would ruin the all point of giving them privacy but found the scene in front of him magnetic.

It took a while before Miles managed to recollect himself, but when he did, he attempted to offer an explanation to his father about what happened, but Gregory said first, "Let's all get warmed up at home first, alright?"

Gregory took his son's hand in his own and then turned to glance at Phoenix, offering him his free one. Phoenix was hesitant to take it, but then, when he didn't take it back or more precisely didn't budge an inch, he knew there was no point in protesting.

After everything had been cleared up on their way, Gregory suggested a sleepover at their place as both boys beamed at the idea. That is, until Phoenix had pointed out disappointedly that his parents weren't likely to agree after he had kept from them where he was the entire time. But only this time Gregory thought to cut the boys some slack and winked at him suggestively, "Allow me to take the responsibility for that, would you?"

Both boys were left to stare at one another, smiling excitedly, as Phoenix saw it as an opportunity to whisper something in Mile's ear. "Hey, Miles?"

"Hm?"

"I especially liked that part before he pushed you, when you pointed at him and yelled-"

"-Objection!"

Both boys laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

Short story (3) - Bedtime Story

Miles settled down on his pillow, staring at the ceiling. It felt unfamiliar after lights out, somewhat unsettling. A creak and a widening gap from the outside were but his only reassurance. It lit up his face, following his father's movement wearing a plain dress shirt and a kind smile. Gregory rested a stool in front of the bed, careful not too scrap it against the floor and took his seat. A curve fell on his forehead as he picked up a book from his lap, inquiring, "Ready for your bedtime story?"

Miles nodded.

Gregory straightened in his seat, getting himself ready. As if about to refute a witness's testimony rather than read fiction to his nine years old son. Gaze lowered to the page in front of him, he read from the very first line, "Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. This story is about-"

"Um, father?" He lifted his head, looking back at his son. "Didn't you read me this one already?"

"I did?" Gregory rubbed his chin, studying the cover from every possible angle. "Well, no surprise there, since we read every other night."

Supporting his knees, he stood up and made a three steps walk to the bookshelf. It was small but served well enough for his studies, not a single one out of place. A few more were usually kept for pass time reading, picked up from the school's library or the local bookstore. His finger trailed the upper row and pulled out an alternative, leaving about a three inches gap to the next in line, "Then how about Wizard of Oz, Moby-Dick or Treasure Island?"

"You already read me those too."

A sense of guilt tugged at his chest. His occupation hadn't only prevented him from spending the afternoon with his son, but also busied his thoughts day in and out. At that moment even, he was working on a case, theorizing possible escape routes for the culprit and how it was committed. All pieces of the puzzle didn't click into place just yet and time was running out.

It may have been avoidable if he had chosen a less demanding job, but didn't count himself quite suited for marketing or regular office work. Besides, his son always took pride in him, expressing it by asking for more 'grown-up' books like law books and once on Christmas, a shining attorney badge. However, he wouldn't like to influence his son's decision in the far future based by his own experience, but wanted him to crave his own path.

Gregory shrugged, smiling apologetically. "I believe a trip to the bookstore is in order."

He brushed a few loose strands out of his son's eyes, who yawned tiredly in return. It was getting well past his bed time and they hadn't started reading yet. It wouldn't be right given their limited time to neglect his reading, wether tomorrow was a school day or not. Gregory pointed at the first option, "Alright, how about tonight we'll read this one and go shop for more this weekend?"

"Ok"

He sat back down, continuing where he left off. "This story is about something that-"

"Um, father?"

Turning from the page again, he looked up. "What is it son?"

Miles looked away, as if afraid to have come with a selfish request, voicing it hesitantly. "...Could you tell me about your latest investigation, make it sound like a story?"

He gaped, taken by surprised. "Are you sure? I don't know if it will interest you."

Miles nodded.

Well, even if he wasn't confident in his story telling ability, improvising was but a different matter. "Alright. Tell me when it gets boring." Gregory closed the book, resting it on the desk. "...Let's see, when the clock struck midnight, an important art piece was stolen from a prestigious museum. A frame was the only part of that painting left behind. The one who first witnessed the crime scene was the director, who immediately dialed the police.

After through investigation, the police had found fingerprints all over the frame. Forensics handed down who those fingerprints belonged to, a foreign night guard from the previous shift. A defense attorney named... Greg was hired to defend him in the law of court..."

It never did.

Gregory told his story without including harmful details to a child. As passionate as he was about his job, he delivered his words with similar seriousness, adding hand gestures and lower voice. A few gasps from his son or surging question like 'what happened then?" and 'did the defendant do it?' gradually subsided. The act of yawning and blinking grew more consistent as his father words must have turned into mumbling and sleep overtook him.

Miles expressed great reluctantly over it in the morning. At breakfast, they ate silently and his own plate barely touched. His father reassured him before dropping him off to school, "We'll see where we left off last night and continue from there tonight, alright?"

He waved back goodbye, eyes lighting up.

At school, he couldn't wait to meet his friends and tell them everything, without excluding a single detail. Apparently, one of them was occupied chasing after a girl from their class, while the other lingered in front of the lockers. Miles unlocked his and took out a history book, as his friend took longer accomplishing the task, as it was buried inside a large stack of books. If he wasn't caught in his version of the story so much, he might have commented about the mess too.

"Whoa, really?" Phoenix gasped, beaming. "Your dad is so cool!"

Miles gestures his friend to come closer, taken to whispering. "My father told me it was top secret though, so you mustn't tell a soul."

"Shhh!" Phoenix signed, he shushed back. "So, what happened then?"

"After that-" Miles paused, trying to recall what his father had told him but couldn't. He may have fallen asleep by that point. "I- I... don't remember."

"Oh."

Phoenix looked rather disappointed by that statement but didn't voice it. Miles felt the same way, but couldn't remember after all. Besides, he thought how nice it would be if his friend could hear the story firsthand, share the experience with him. His father certainly told the story better. An idea popped in mind. He couldn't, however, voice it out loud yet since a few other things needed to be arranged beforehand, that is, beside asking for his father's permission.

The entire day, the idea flooded in his head. Miles couldn't stop thinking about it, imagining it and daydreaming about it the entire class. When school was finally over, he hurried home knowing it was rather silly since his father won't make it home until later that evening, but couldn't help himself. As he did so, excitement overtook him and he muttered something unintelligible at the doorstep.

—-—/—

"Ready for your bedtime story?"

Both boys were tucked in bed, nodding. Gregory per usual sat in front of it but didn't rest a book on his lap this time, there was no need. A single light source reached from the corridor itself, as it traced the side of his face and back. While his voice cords gotten themselves ready and his mind clicked details into place, they indulged in a short dialogue between themselves.

"Miles, don't worry if you forget anything," Phoenix started, "I'll let you know about everything you missed in the morning!"

Miles snorted. "There's no way I'll fall asleep before you, Phoenix."

"What? I bet I can hold out longer!"

Gregory laughed. After assuring their attention focused on him, he started, "The biggest mystery the crime scene had left was 'how the deed was done?'... Our attorney Greg needed to present a possible escape route for the true culprit in court. One the night guard couldn't use but every door was shut from the inside, then how did he do it? Not even Greg knows yet, but..."

Phoenix considered this. "Through the air vent, maybe?"

Miles shook his head. "Air vents are only wide enough for that in television shows. Maybe he was there as a visitor and hid inside until closing time?"

Gregory blinked, surprised. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, since the museum had sensors that could tell if someone was there."

"Oh, that means," both pointed together passionately, "only a worker could nullify it!"

Gregory looked between the boys in disbelief. Trying not to lose his concentration in the story, he kept telling it without pausing. After the first couple of minutes the boys seemed quite awake and listened intently, asking questions or remarking assumptions here and then. But as time passed, he was already sure both were indeed, fast asleep. About the same time too, maybe Phoenix held out a minute or two longer but might not remember so he could boast about it in the morning.

Watching the sleeping faces with a smile of his own, he got up and closed the door behind him. As he did, a sudden idea popped in mind. If indeed the person waited inside and the guard's shift had only started at midnight, additionally his client didn't have previous knowledge or access to the control room, then that meant...

He stepped into the living room and dialed a familiar number.

"It's me," he said, leaving a stunned assistant on the other end, "we might have a lead."


	4. Chapter 4

Short story (4) - Christmas gift

Christmas lights led their way home every other evening. Mostly, Miles walked back home after school accompanied by two of his best friends. But when his father, Gregory, could make up the time or had especially asked his assistant Mr. Shields to take care of the rest for the day, he used to pick Miles up himself, waiting patiently with the rest of the parents by the front gates. They bought dinner on the way, usually of Mile's choosing and indulged in idle, small conversation while making their way through the crowd.

Per usual, his favorite topic was Gregory's business. A private law firm consisting but two employees including himself. With the policy to welcome anyone to its doorstep and offer them their services with open arms. Hearing about his father's latest cases always excited and inspired him to great length. However, that particular cold evening, Miles had found himself engrossed in something else entirely.

Beyond the showcase of a toy shop he wouldn't so much as slide glance before, posed an action figure of his favorite show, the Signal Samurai. It's just so happens that the hems of his bandana curled accurately to his back and his signature spear was grasped tightly in hand, as in his signature move, so dazzlingly.

The lights from inside directed at him, only made his red costume flash brightly against his eyes and for the figure itself to look all the more attractive. Miles had almost found himself pinning his hands to the glass and staring at it in awe. Not minding standing in the cold and risk freezing his toes. Rather than that, Miles stood inclined to the side in an awkward position, pretending he wasn't looking at the toy specifically, but instead was astonishingly enchanted by a street lamp that stood strategically next to it.

But then, he also definitely didn't look at other children, urging their parents by their hands inside. And when another child about his age stepped outside, running in circles excitedly, the Signal Samurai Yellow package grasped tightly in his arms, hadn't been missed. Miles pocketed his hands into his rain coat and averted his gaze.

A hand over his shoulder pulled him out of his trance.

"Miles?"

Turning to the sound of his name, Miles immediacy spotted his father, holding two plastic bags containing their dinner in one hand and his briefcase with the other. His glasses were a little crooked around the edges of his nose and somewhat foggy, but with no available hand to readjust them.

"Is something troubling you?"

Miles shook his head quickly, although his slight inclining to the direction of the showcase might have given him away, since now Gregory was staring at the open space when that child stood momentarily ago, to the front of the chiming door itself. And then they were both caught staring.

"Miles-" his father stared.

"-Ah! er, we should get going, father. Missile must be waiting for us." Miles didn't allow him the chance to finish, urging him by holding the hand that had held the briefcase and left it hanging when his father after a short pause, fell into step with him.

When they were almost there, his father asked, "Miles, do you have any special request to Santa this year?"

Miles frowned. "The only one in my whole class who still believes that Santa Claus exists is Larry."

"Is that so?" Gregory asked with a good hearted laugh. "Then consider it as a matter of expression. Should he exist, what would you like to have?"

Miles frowned deeper and in all seriousness. Only at that moment he had remembered that Phoenix and Larry have already mentioned what they asked and what they got from their own parents in the end. His father was always a little late in that respect, his mind usually preoccupied with other things, but in the end, he never disappoints.

"...I-uh," Miles looked around, too embarrassed to admit he wanted a Red Signal Samurai figurine. It was a childish idea the more he thought about it, on the other hand, the more he thought about it the more he wanted it. Miles shook his head. The request will probably disappoint his father.

He spotted an open store far away, that he had recognized nonetheless. "Um, another law book, maybe?"

Gregory looked surprised. "Again? But weren't those books a little difficult to understand the last time?"

"There are still pictures in some of those."

"Alright, then."

After that, dinner was quiet and uneventful. Missile ate from his bowl eagerly, as Miles was digging into his spaghetti and sauce, Gregory taking small breaks between chewing and watching the local news.

There was just about enough time for the broadcast of a new Signal Samurai episode and a late phone call to Phoenix to talk about how the Signal Samurais managed to save the day this time around which led to other things. Like arguing who was cooler, Red or Blue while managing to agree Yellow was the least proficient, after it took a while to explain just what the meaning of the word 'proficient' meant, to Phoenix

The call took longer than both of them thought, making their parents urge them to end it soon due to the late hour. But when Phoenix called enthusiastically, "Kick enemies to the curb, and sally forth! Signal Blue!" instead of bidding goodnight and expecting Miles to follow with his own lines, the blush crept to his neck, barley managing a weak 'bye' before hanging up the line.

After taking a shower and brushing his teeth, Miles stepped out of the shower wearing his pajamas and into the living room in order to wish his father goodnight. Miles stopped when he saw his father standing in front of the entrance, wearing his brown coat and hat back on for some reason.

Miles rubbed his eyes tiredly, asking worriedly, "Father?"

Usually his father wouldn't go out this late at night and leave Miles alone in the apartment. Missile gave a playful bark behind him, as if reminding him he was there and sat next to his feet, waiting.

Gregory turned around, a little startled, but soon regained composure. "Nothing to worry about, Miles. Mr. Shields just called to say there was an emergency. I'll go take care of it and be back before you know it, alright?"

Closing the gap between them, he patted Miles reassuringly on his shoulder and turned to glance at the digital clock on the table. "It's getting late. You and Missile should already be tugged in bed by now."

Miles nodded and scooped Missile from the floor. "Goodnight."

Gregory replied with a smile, "Goodnight, son."

Then the entrance door was closed behind him.

Miles was laying on his bed, back against the mattress. Missile was already sleeping in his own little, improvised bed near the door to his room as Miles himself waited for his father to return. He fought the urge to close his eyes, blinking again and again. Keeping at it for more than another twenty minutes until he could no longer resist the tiredness that had overtook him.

Later into that night, he had dreamt of a plastic package shoved gently in his arms, tugged next to him in his bed, and a warm kiss that was implanted on his forehead with the brush of his bangs out of his face. Miles's senses weren't as sharp as Missile's to be awaken from silently approaching footsteps, a shadow hovering near the foot of his bed.

Miles mumbled in his sleep, to Gregory's own amusement, "...'re ...ing me, ... I shall ..op thee. Signal Red..."

As Gregory noticed the small dog inclining his head, staring curiously at him, he also laid the book he had promised on the mattress and brought a finger to his lips, whispering, "Shhh."


	5. Chapter 5

Short story (5) - Nightmares

Miles gripped at his sheets, shifting in bed from side to side. But only when he let out a quivering gasp, did he find himself already in a sitting position, panting heavily. Seeing as the mattress was wet, he brushed his equally sweaty side bangs out of his face and took a deep inhale of breath. It didn't seem like Missile woke up from his trashing, fortunately, although his face licks proved to be rather comforting at a time of need. Weren't dog supposed to have incredibly sharp hearing? he smiled fondly at the thought but then his face fell again immediately.

Just when he thought he was over these nightmares... the gunshot... that horrific scream... every night, they returned to haunt him, leaving him defenseless and vulnerable to their hold on him and there was simply nothing he could do about it.

With no one else to share the knowledge with, usually he debated between sneaking into the dark kitchen for a glass of cold water to laying back down, trying to lull himself back to sleep or simply wait it out until his digital alarm clock rang, which of course left him groggy and unfocused during the day. Neither of those options were carried out in the end, as he heard three weak knocks on his door. It was unlikely that he was imagining things now that he was wide awake and alerted, but still he had his doubts someone would call on him that late into the night.

Miles slipped his feet into his slippers, got up and opened it slightly. When he saw there was not a soul in front of him, he let his gaze waver down below seeing as it was Franziska standing there in about the same height of the door knob itself. In her dotted light blue pajamas and a pillow under her armpit, she gave an uneasy expression he didn't usually read on her face.

Then again, that could be due to the late hour seeing as she rubbed her eyes tiredly, letting out a loud yawn unbefitting to a Von Karma.

Miles looked down at her. "...Anything you need?"

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Miles gave her a blank look. "...Why?"

At that, she gripped tighter at her pillow, almost spilling out the contents. Miles wasn't in the least certain if it was meant as a sign of nervousness or there was something else behind it. Not that he was very good at understanding little girls to begin with, and this one in particular. Miles didn't know how her father educated her, but could at least deduce she was far too spoiled and snooty for her tender age and now she was nosy as well, apparently.

"I had a nightmare, maybe 'cause my night lamp is faulty."

He sighted, recalling they never had a chance to go to the shopping district as planned and buy a new night lamp for her. "Then why don't you ask your father to fix it, or buy you a stuffed animal to sleep with as a compensation?"

After he had just reached the conclusion she was too spoiled, here he was, suggesting some sort of a bargain chip in exchange for wandering around the house in the middle of the night. As far as Miles was concerned though, her misbehavior was no business of his and he had no patience for dealing with it at the moment. What did she even dream about anyway, being chase by a gigantic donut coated with cream?

Franziska looked taken aback by the suggestion, or the lack of knowledge what exactly the word 'compensation' meant, a small frown deepening between her eyebrows. "Don't be foolish, Miles, a teddy bear is for little kids!"

...And a night lamp isn't?

"And what are you, six?"

With her ire raising, she stomped her feet, shouting. "I'm seven and a half!"

Miles looked around him, hoping she didn't accidentally wake anyone up but fortunately this was a broad manor and the walls were mostly soundproof, so it was very unlikely. Better note not to mention her age a second time though, or she might ensure it the next time. Kneeling towards the girl, for some reason beyond him he was taken to whispering, "Alright! I get it, just keep it down or you might wake up the whole neighborhood."

"An easy feat for a Von Karma," she took a small bow, inquiring, "so can I?"

Miles was caught staring at the gap between the dark bedroom to where she was standing. "...I don't think it's such a good idea. Your father might disapprove, er, I mean get mad."

"Papa doesn't have to know."

Still reluctant, his mouth clamped shut. This was the third night in a row he woke up from an eerie nightmare and didn't want her to find out about them in such an unseemly manner, or at all, if it was only possible. The knowledge of someone knowing about those made Miles feel down right vulnerable, yet she still kept pressing him about it and if he didn't want the short end of her riding crop to make contact with his face, Miles will have to announce a truce.

"Just for tonight."

Or that's what he believed at first. Until Franziska knocked on his door the second night and then the third, legitimating the fourth and fifth. It's not that her presence turned out to be unpleasant in any way, though she was a blanket grabber and apparently stronger than she let on, as he had to wrestle his way to get a share until he had developed certain strategies to make this work. Such as rolling one edge under his elbow or circling it around a leg, and just when he did so she used his body heat to keep herself warm and comfortable, snuggling against his back.

It was a little cramped, but besides that, rather comforting.

Missile seemed pretty fond of the idea as well, as Franziska gave him some extra special attention before the alarm clock set off, petting strategically in all his favorite places, and turned back to her room, not to be discovered by a certain someone.

Overall, it wasn't all bad. Miles didn't have any recollection of what he was dreaming about at all, and yet he didn't wake up at any part of the night, sweating bullets and grabbing for his sheets. It was more of a relief than anything, but he rather avoid being accused later for inflicting the girl any incurable traumas, after all.

But then, when the sixth night came something unexpected happened. Both Miles and Franziska overslept and she didn't have the time to get back to her own bed. And after Manfred Von Karma didn't find her there or elsewhere around the house, he came knocking on Miles's door instead to ask if he had seen her as the boy was supposed to be up and about by now, getting ready for the usual breakfast routine. However, when no answer came, Manfred grew irritated in the span of a moment and opened the door himself.

What he had found there took him by surprise.

Manfred stared from the entrance, seeing as they were both tucked together under the sheets and blankets and sleeping peacefully still. A small smile was plastered on his daughter's face. The only one who had acknowledged his presence was Missile, who got up and wiggled his tail at him in some sort of a friendly manner but after blinking for a few short moments, considering just what he was seeing, Manfred closed the door behind him quietly and left.

Usually, this sort of scene would urge a parent to document it, but Manfred Von Karma wasn't as sentimental at that. Manfred will be sure to reprimand them for oversleeping later but at least for the time being he thought he could make a once in a lifetime exception.

Later that day, Manfred encountered his youngest daughter in the kitchen. Apparently, she took a short break from her homework and poured herself a glass of water, standing on a stool as she wasn't nearly tall enough to reach the sink by her own. Manfred approached her and poured it for her, offering the glass as she accepted it and jumped down, inquiring flatly, "Franziska, have you been suffering from nightmares lately?"

After she took a sip, she placed the partly filled glass on the counter, looking every bit surprised. "What makes you say that papa?"

Manfred tightened the grip around his sleeve. "...Edgeworth told me you are when I asked him for certain... answers. Was that wrong?"

Franziska wiggled her index finger playfully at him, faking an overly dramatic sight, "that foolish little brother kept me awake every other night, someone needed to watch over him. If I have to, I'll be happy to accept the role of the dutiful older sister."

Manfred shook his head, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face but he soon turned it into the usual frown, not allowing anyone to see him at a moment of weakness. It left him without words, seeing as his daughter for the lack of her older sister decided to claim her role in order to fill the void inside herself.

Manfred thought he could come to terms with what he saw earlier, although he didn't fathom the idea of the title 'little'.


End file.
